


this dreaming endurance

by JudeAraya



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 16 year old Phil is dumb, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Original Mythology, Temporary Character Death, Time Jump, To clarify, but with veiled nods to greek mythology, don't make deals with shady men, everyone is over 18, fate isn't always kind, love makes dan dumb too, phil is not 16 when he meets dan, right into the problem solving, she'll fuck you up, skipping the grief part, soul mates, vignette style chapters, which happens off screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: A mortal child born of immortal parents. Six seeds eaten under the new moon, a desperate transaction made in the face of blind love, and the consequences of trying to change your fate.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 107
Kudos: 75
Collections: Phandom Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writen for the 2020 Phandom Reversebang. So many thanks to Tara for the lovely art [found here](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/post/625209070032502784/created-for-phandomreversebang-s-2020-edition) and to [thoughtathought](https://thoughtathought.tumblr.com/) and [Calvinahobbes](https://calvinahobbes.tumblr.com/) for the amazing beta work and handholding. 
> 
> I am a big believer in happy endings, and I don't like to make myself cry so I promise this ends well and there is no lingering on the character death at all.  
> 'm going for a vignette-style fic in a genre I've never written in before, so, hop aboard for the ride.

It was like being born the blue-eyed child of brown-eyed parents, Phil’s mother had explained. Not that Phil didn’t have literal blue eyes. But mortality was the short straw the majority of the human race drew and Phil was one of them. And okay, it wasn’t quite the same as the simple genetics of eye color, since Phil was a complete mystery. A mortal child born of immortal parents was practically unheard of.

Only later, once she was past her anger, once his family got past the heartbreak of his choices did anyone bother to sit Phil down and explain the prices of immortality they’d never thought he’d need to know.

Phil had had an idyllic childhood. He was loved and spoiled. Somehow, it wasn’t until adolescence that Phil really realized the implications of his mortality. Watching his parents’ unchanging faces was one thing, but watching his brother--who was already more popular, athletic, charming and outgoing--reach his full potential growth, then stop growing, was another. That was really when Phil began to wonder what it would be like for them to have to sit and watch him age and die.

Hundreds of years past his death, would they even remember him?

At sixteen, Phil only knew his family’s love. The safety of their large, rambling home on the island of Corcra. He’d not thought of his future, of a life outside the protective, lovely and safe bubble he’d grown up in. Instead, he’d foolishly thought, _if only I could have this forever_. Knowing he could not became a poison, a dark ribbon of fear and dread of loss that intensified each day until he could hardly breathe for the anxiety his impending death triggered. To watch himself wrinkle, becoming stooped by the weight of wear and tear on a stupidly mortal skeleton, or to be lost at his prime, blown out like a candle with no warning would be horrific for them all.

But _oh_ were his parents were furious when they found out what he’d done.

Phil had been sixteen and spoiled by a perfect life surrounded by immortals. He was sixteen and impulsive with a brother who “knew people”. He was sixteen and really, what sixteen year old listens to their parents? His father had warned him, often, about the world outside Corcra. About how large it was, how resentful and ugly and small spirited the mortals could be when they knew you were from Corcra, when they thought you were immortal. One day, he’d be off to University, where no one would know. Where he could meet a nice girl and they could settle down. Oh yeah, and somewhere in there he could drop in the fact that his family was immortal. Because that wasn’t shitty.

A furiously hurt and scared part of him burned at the implicit assumption. The fact that there might be a nice boy out there didn’t really occur to him. He just knew, deep inside, that a normal life with a girl wasn’t for him. At sixteen, rationality wasn’t even a dream. It was like the wind slipping around him, never truly sticking. Surrounded by an island of the ageless, an inexplicable genetic blip (not a curse, his mother insisted. He was not cursed, he was just an anomaly and although it had never happened in the entire history of Corcra, rumor was it had elsewhere, once or twice). Phil was never really able to think past his misery, the loneliness of his oddity. He was young and impulsive and thinking beyond the _now_ , to a future--a lover, a home, children--never crossed his mind.

Home was all he knew and so home was all he really wanted. Once he was immortal, he’d be happy. He was sure of it.

It was winter when he did it. He bundled against the mist that cloaked Corcra, whirling like cold fingers around his legs and feet as he walked, dampening his hair and skin. He paid the fare at the ferry with money he’d borrowed from his brother, tugging the hood of the cloak around his face so he wouldn’t be recognized. The Lesters were known everywhere on Corcra. They were the oldest family, the first family to live there. Phil had never been anywhere else. Although his mother told him of a bigger world, a brighter world, beyond the borders and past the sea, Phil was too young to conceptualize it, really. All he wanted was what his family had, the thing he’d been cheated of by some fluke of genetics.

It turned out that his brother did, in fact, know a guy. Over the water, after a mumbled thanks tipped to the ferryboat master, Phil found a world so large and frightening he’d stumbled through Fairbreach half blindly, trying to make heads or tails of the convoluted directions Martyn had given him. He’d scribbled them on a piece of paper Phil had studied while enduring the ferry ride. The damp and the splash of water catching from the waves on the wind had made the ink run, but still Phil thought he knew where to go.

Many, many years later, Phil would realize that what he’d thought to be a huge, bustling city was really nothing more than a town. That all of the strangers he bumped into or shied away from were a drop in the bucket of a huge human population caught in that endless dance, the cycle of life and death.

Eventually, through luck more than anything, he found the guy Martyn had told him of. Deep in the shadow of night a transaction was made, money for a spell and hopefully, immortality. He was warned with quiet urgency that playing with fate always came with a cost, but Phil, young and impulsive, didn’t take heed.

Six seeds eaten at the next new moon, in the darkest corner of night, was all it took.

Nothing changed. At least, Phil hadn’t felt any different. He’d kept to his bed late into the morning the next day, furious with Martyn for tricking him, for making him endure two arduous ferry boat rides. He was furious at the loss of all of his saved money, not to mention the money he’d borrowed _from_ Martyn, and all for nothing. Because Phil was sure that it had all amounted to that--nothing.

But when he finally came downstairs at his mother's insistence, his father had taken one look at him and dropped the mug of coffee he’d been holding. The sound of it, ceramic shattering on the scarred wood floor, was the only sound for a breathless moment. Time froze. Phil was _sure_ it did. How else could he take in the way his mother’s face changed from a greeting to horror, how his father’s face crumpled and then flushed.

Turned out, six seeds under a moon that could not be seen, was enough, and the cost, _oh_ , the cost was too much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to [thoughtathought](https://thoughtathought.tumblr.com/) and [Calvinahobbes](https://calvinahobbes.tumblr.com/) for the amazing beta work and to Tara for the best cheerleading!

There was a chill on the day, despite the summer sun and rare clear sky. It was a fragile blue, not a cloud in sight. There was a wind coming off of the North Sea Phil didn’t like. A wind like that in the spring whispered to his flowers, encouraging reticence. He could only coax them so much with his hands, with the simple tools of a gardener. He’d seen so many seasons, lived in this cottage for so many years, he knew how to read what was to come. The flowers were reluctant, but it was still only early May. He held hope for them yet. 

The wind was cold enough that Phil regretted his lack of a sweater. He wove reluctantly through the lamimum and vinca lined paths, under the wisteria climbing the trellis he put up years ago. He made his way along the path that led to his open front door. His cottage had a side door that led directly into his home, but Phil preferred the magic of the front path. He’d planted it with visitors in mind. He planned and expanded and tended to his garden hoping that one day he could bring someone in who might read romance in the tumble of color, show them the love he gave each sweep of green, the climbing plants, the low bushes and assertive groundcover. 

Of course, no one came other than his family. His mother appreciated his work, praised his creativity. His father didn’t say much, but some days Phil would come out to find him quietly sitting on a bench or amidst the flowers, painting. His brother found the whole thing mildly amusing, joking that Phil’s garden was his partner in life. 

Phil supposed that once you’d found a life partner, you could afford to be a little smug. It still stung. 

When Phil was young, in the first decades of his immortal life, he’d searched for someone. He’d wanted someone to see him through the loneliness, but there weren’t many immortals he didn’t already know on Corcra. He’d learned quickly enough that Fairbreach was nothing but a small port, a tiny hub on the way to larger cities. Life on the island was lonely, but Phil would come to learn the hard way why they all lived here. It was easier to live amongst those you knew wouldn’t die in the blink of an eye. 

Then came this new thing--the internet--and Martyn was forever encouraging Phil to connect with other immortals online. Which he did try, he really did, but it never seemed to work out. 

And then, well. Then he’d found someone by accident. Someone painfully mortal. 

_Danisnotonfire_ was a daydream. A boy like no one he’d ever met. Someone who, Phil knew, would drift away as he grew up. Dan was young and in need of a friend. As in need as Phil perhaps, but he _would_ grow up and find his place outside the solitary world of website forums. Phil had seen it, time and again, with mortals. The seasons of their lives passed so quickly Phil envied them. Decades of loneliness really wore the shine off of immortality. 

Phil hadn’t intended to find someone he was so well suited for when he’d wandered onto a forum to discuss his favorite tv show. He’d just been a big fan (maybe a slightly obsessed fan, to be honest) and from there he had fallen into a rabbit hole. He’d made new friends, gotten sucked into what they called a fandom. He loved to read their stories, he chose a camp (or as they called it, a ship), and spent countless hours debating the merits and flaws of each plotline. Other than gardening and continuing to educate himself on everything and anything he could get his hands on, the internet was the place he spent the majority of his time. Luckily he’d lived alone long enough that he didn’t have to justify how he spent his time or explain that he spent it making friends with a bunch of equally obsessed mortals. So he was kind of a geek. Immortality certainly hadn’t made him suddenly cool. 

Dan was...well. At first he’d been a distraction. And then, somehow, a friend. They’d circled each other’s orbit in fandom for a while before they started messaging directly. Phil loved the stories Dan wrote. They were dark and creative and _funny_. Before he knew what he was doing, he and Dan were talking about those stories and Phil was helping him behind the scenes. 

One day in the not-quite-spring, Phil had woken up to find the hopeful whispering of crocus leaves pushing through the frozen ground. The wind had been bitter but Phil had run out without a coat to run his fingers over them, to say thanks to those he needed, and smiled. Winter was always the hardest on him and these tiny first flowers were precursors of change. 

Dan pointed out how happy Phil seemed that day, how his responses seemed brighter (perhaps it was the excess of exclamation marks) than usual. 

_my flowers are coming up_ Phil had typed, stupidly. Stupidly because to Dan he was twenty-two, and perhaps his intense adoration for flowers wasn’t the mark of a normal boy in his young twenties. _that probably sounds so dumb to you._

_no. u garden?_

_yeah. idk. I just like watching things grow_ Phil said. He didn’t add that there was something about the promise of futurity--of planting things that would always come back, that he could coax back through their seeds or by tending to their bulbs--that he _needed_. 

_tell me about them_ Dan had said, as if it were the most natural thing, as if Phil hadn’t suddenly made himself seem like the least cool, dorkiest guy _ever_. 

So, he did. He’d had to make up some fancy lies about how it was that he lived in a cottage on his own: that his grandmother left it to him, he worked from home, he liked being close to his family because he got homesick when he’d tried to live away from home. He’d had to tone down some of his enthusiasm, but otherwise it went over well. Dan, lovely, knowledge hungry Dan, had listened and asked questions. Phil knew then that he was in trouble. Dan was troubled himself. He was young and stuck in a home that felt sterile and lonely. He was haunted by memories of his schooling; he was tormented by uncertainty over his desires. He ached for love. 

He’d never told Phil that so explicitly. But Phil knew the language of loneliness, that deep need to be loved and to love in return. The hunger for touch and connection. He’d lived it for decades. Despite the fact that Phil’s family often treated him like a flighty, irresponsible child, Phil wasn’t dumb. He knew that if he wasn’t careful, he could fall for Dan, and he _shouldn’t_. He was immortal and it was forbidden. Mortals and immortals falling in love and trying to be together did happen, but rarely. The curse put upon the mortal’s family was a strong deterrent.

Martyn had once thoughtlessly joked about how immortals were never cursed for that sort of thing. Many immortals dallied with regular humans because the consequences didn’t apply to them. It didn’t matter when the life was ruined faded so quickly. That was its own curse, Phil had snapped back, to become so jaded that mortal lives no longer mattered simply because they experienced the passage of time differently. Martyn had completely missed the point, so his comforting hand on Phil’s shoulder, his reassurance that Phil _would_ find someone soon, hadn’t been much of a comfort after all. 

He and Dan messaged every day. They even Skyped occasionally, although the connection on Phil’s end wasn’t always great for that. Once, Dan had gone to Comic-Con and bought and mailed Phil a cute set of stickers and a plushie Phil kept on his bed. The more they spoke, the more confidences they shared, the worse Phil was at keeping his growing feelings to himself. Dan told him in his confessions that Phil was the best friend he’d ever had. How Phil made him feel safe, how he’d never felt safe before. How even without Phil by his side, knowing Phil was in the world was a balm to his loneliness. And Gods, Phil felt all of those things as well. 

Waking to the hopeful news of spring, little green leaves of his crocuses’ the harbingers of time’s passage, did nothing to comfort him the day he realized that he was in danger of falling in love with a boy decades younger than him. Phil had been warned that there would be a price to pay for his rash decision. Was falling for a mortal boy he could never have the price? 

Which is why it was so, so hard to say no over and over when Dan would suggest they meet. He was _terrified_ of what might happen, so Phil found endless excuses for why it wouldn’t work. Still, he _knew_ Dan; knew that he was tenacious and stubborn and _needing_. 

So he wasn’t quite surprised when he emerged from his garden, pushing through that cold northern wind to find Dan at his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment because they make my day, and also reblogging on [tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/625635701518712832/fic-this-dreaming-endurance-210) bc that would make everyone's day!
> 
> If you haven't already, go check out the amazing moodboard Tara made [here](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/post/625209070032502784/created-for-phandomreversebang-s-2020-edition)!


	3. Chapter 3

Phil stood, frozen. Dan had his arms wrapped around himself, shoulder blades like wings under a much-too-thin shirt. The wind caught his hair, made the material of his shirt ripple. Phil could see the cold shrouding him. 

He took one step, then another, heart pounding in his throat and ears, fingers tingling from shock. Whether it was the soft rustling of grass under his feet, or the small unbidden sound that escaped his throat, he caught Dan’s attention. Dan whipped his head around. Their eyes met and held, a moment in which Phil was sure, _sure_ , time suspended itself, that the whistle of the wind and the ceaseless rush of waves on sand hushed. That all there was was his breath and the rise and fall of Dan’s chest and even from afar, his lovely eyes locked on Phil’s. 

“Phil,” Dan said, and then smiled, and _oh_ , Phil had seen Dan smile through a screen but he’d never seen Dan smile like this, with his whole face, so happy even his body seemed to lighten with it. 

“Oh, my god, Dan?” Phil dropped the bucket of gardening tools with a clatter and when Dan rushed up to him--or had he rushed toward Dan?--caught him in a hug. He didn’t mean to linger then, not really, only Dan was all sharp bones and tight muscles and he smelled so lovely as his body began to relax into Phil’s, softening like warm wax, just absolutely perfectly fitted to Phil. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Dan pulled back, cheeks high with color. “I’m sorry, oh _god,_ I knew I shouldn’t have just showed up bu-”

“Dan, _Dan_ ,” Phil cut him off. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here. Surprised is all.” And he was glad. Terrified, a little, but he shushed that sharp edged warning as far down as he could. Dan shivered. “C’mon then, let’s get you inside. You’re freezing.” 

“It’s so much colder than I thought it would be,” Dan admitted. “It’s the wind.” 

Phil began to agree, turning toward his cottage, then he tripped over his own garden tools. Only Dan’s hand kept him from faceplanting and _god_ how mortifying. But Dan was laughing, a bright, familiar noise that set Phil to laughing even if it was at himself. He shot Dan a smile and shrugged. Up close, Dan was even more lovely than Phil expected. Maybe it was the dimension, all the planes of his body and face, warm and rounded and sharp and _real_. The Dan he’d come to know was screen flattened, made the most dimensional by his laughter and emotions.

* * *

He set Dan up on the couch and lent him a warm sweater, then settled them at the table for tea, space filled with awkward shuffling and insecure half sentences. 

“Sugar?” Phil asked. Dan shook his head. He’d followed Phil into the kitchen and sat with his feet on the chair, arms around them, improbably wrapped up in a lanky ball. Each line of his body spelled insecurity and maybe even fear. He’d pulled his hands into the sleeves of his jumper. 

“I know I shouldn't have just come like this,” Dan said, quietly. He ignored the tea. There was a hollowness there; Phil wanted to reach out, to take Dan’s hand. 

“It’s good, Dan. But,” he took a breath, careful of his tone, “can you tell my why? What’s wrong?” 

“I…” Dan was biting his lip so hard Phil was sure he’d draw blood, “I had a row with Dad. It was...I don’t know. It was stupid, leaving. I always do stupid things like this. Like I know I can’t _actually_ run away.” Dan rolled his eyes. “But I did. When I left I...I don’t know what I was thinking. That I had to get away. Only now I know I’ve got to go back at some point and that I probably shouldn’t have even come.” 

“Dan,” Phil scooted closer and took a risk, covering Dan’s sweater enclosed hand in his own. “I’m glad you came. You’re welcome here.” And he was. He was so welcome, and Phil _wanted_. He wasn’t sure what, only that he wanted to be closer. To feel Dan with him, lovely long bones and warm skin and _real_. To lay in the dark and whisper confessions like they so often did at night; only then Phil’s confessions of loneliness had been protected by screens and distance. 

“I just...I didn’t think it through. I needed to be somewhere safe, but...” Dan stopped, “I realized no friend I had was someone I could go to for that. Because no one feels...” he cleared his throat, eyes sliding away from Phil’s. “No one feels like you.” Dan cringed and ducked his head down onto his arms. Phil was warm all the way through. 

“You are safe,” he promised. “You’ll always be safe with me.” 

Dan’s eyes, rich lovely brown and beautiful, shone when they met Phil’s. They didn’t speak; Phil couldn’t breathe. He knew, then, that every instinct he’d had was right. That his stupid, lonely heart could fall for this boy. That he had the power to ruin Dan. That right now, he could be the spark that lit the tinder, that he could be the greatest mistake of Dan’s life. Dan needed Phil, and not just now. Phil knew enough of Fate, of how fickle she was, how she played with human lives and emotions for fun. How she strung them like puppets on her own stage because their reality meant nearly nothing to her. Fate, like the gods, pre-existed even immortals. To her, Dan and Phil were specks of dust. Interesting for a fleeting moment when caught in the light, but soon forgotten. Their heartbreak would mean nothing to her and everything to them. 

Phil wanted to be with Dan, wanted to see where that spark might take them; wanted to feel its warmth fight back the chill of decades old loneliness. But more, he wanted Dan’s happiness and refused to be the ruin of him. What he needed was a way to welcome Dan in his home and life but to draw a boundary between them. 

“You’re my best friend Dan. The best I’ve ever had,” Phil promised through a tight throat. “You’re always welcome here, and you’re safe.” 

He thought of love, but offered friendship. 

Dan closed his eyes, shoulders sagging as he caught what Phil had laced into those words. Phil wished he could take them back. That he could find Fate, curse her, plead his case, _anything_. Life didn’t work that way and even if it did, Phil had already defied her once. 

Why was it that doing what was best was so often the hardest? 

“Dan?” It occurred to Phil that Dan might leave, that he’d hoped for more than friendship so strongly he'd take this as only one more of the many rejections he’d felt in his short life. 

“Thank you,” Dan whispered after a long, long silence. He put his cheek down on his arms, still crossed around and over his knees. His eyes were bright with tears but held Phil’s gaze. “You’re my best friend too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging on[tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/) because these things bring such sunshine to my life :D


	4. Chapter 4

The week that followed was beautiful. Every moment was suffused with joy. He discovered just how lovely Dan’s smile was when Phil made him laugh, how their combined raised voices over video games felt like coming home. What it meant to gasp for breath, sides aching from laughter. Phil learned that real happiness, true and brilliant, was the smudge of flour on Dan’s cheek as Phil taught him to bake bread. Resentment, a tiny fire that burned when he forced himself not to wipe it away. A nearly perfect week, yes, if not for the hint of dark knowing winding itself through even the best moments. It breathed.

Dan was quietly attentive and genuinely interested when Phil led him through the garden naming each flower that would wake to the sun. At moonrise Phil led him out and pointed to the fragrant night flowers that bloomed like hushed secrets in the dark. The week was gorgeous, each second, but in the way one of his father’s watercolors paintings might be. A little blurred, gentle colors bleeding and pale. The hint of shapes and the story told. 

But at night, when Phil climbed into bed, skin and muscles taught with aching, he knew the threat imbued in each moment. The danger in fantasizing about the beautiful boy curled on his couch before sleep, slipping into dreams that taunted him. Phil woke knowing how easily those colors might intensify; how easily he and Dan could make the brightest painting together. 

And so he held back. Dan’s cheek remained smudged with flour; Phil made them separate bowls of popcorn and curled tight in his corner of the couch so they wouldn’t accidentally touch. When Dan leaned over to trace the frilled, tightly packed peonies in bloom, Phil didn’t ask Dan to close his eyes and cup his palms so he might fill them with blossoms. 

Sometimes, Dan would watch Phil. His eyes, older than his years, would track Phil’s movements. Phil understood in those moments that Dan knew Phil was holding back. He’d catch sadness in those looks sometimes, and others, restlessness. Often, and worst, patience. A steadfast waiting that broke Phil’s heart. Dan shouldn’t wait and if Phil were a good man, a better man, he’d tell Dan not to. Selfishly, foolishly, he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he hoarded each of those moments and ached for more.

* * *

Friday he woke exhausted, joints aching and head pounding from too many late nights with Dan. It was late, past eleven. Phil winced, hoping Dan felt at home enough after almost a week to make himself coffee, should he already be awake. More than once Phil had padded down the stairs to find Dan still curled in sleep, cheeks rounded and sweet, begging for a soft touch. 

On this morning, however, only a nest of tangled blankets remained on the couch. 

“Dan?” Phil made his way into an empty kitchen and then strained to listen for the shower. Perhaps he’d missed that Dan was in the loo on his way downstairs? All that greeted him was silence. 

There was no hot water on, nor even water in the kettle, so Phil dutifully filled it. Still slow, eyes blurry with exhaustion behind his glasses, Phil almost missed Dan when he looked out over his garden from his kitchen window. He was sat on the bench, curled in one of Phils heavy, knit sweaters. His knees were up, hands pulled into sweater paws like he so often did. The wind was playful and Dan’s hair was a mess of curls, his cheeks pink from the nip in the air. 

Around him was a riot of color, Phil’s garden bursting into late spring bloom. And in that bed of color, Dan stood out in the sharpest relief. Phil’s heart filled, emotions sudden and hot and undeniable. Dan’s eyes were closed--Phil knew by now how entranced he was by the relentless sound of the sea--but Phil’s were wide open. 

Phil understood then, that for himself, for his heart, there was no going back.

* * *

“Mum,” Phil whispered, hand cupped around his phone. Dan was in the shower--Phil had waited until he knew Dan wouldn’t be able to hear him--but still Phil knew he must keep this the most secret. 

“Child,” she said, voice warm as ever. 

“Mum, I need-” Phil cleared his throat when his voice cracked. 

“Phil, love, what’s happened?”

“Is falling in love with a mortal enough to curse them? Even if they don’t know?” He’d have liked to say, _even if they don’t love you back?_ , but he couldn’t, because he couldn’t be sure. 

“Oh, _Phil_ ,” she said, and the sadness and reproach were nearly too much for him.

“Mum, please,” he begged. The shower had turned off and soon enough Dan would emerge, curls wild and wet. He’d straighten them right off, much, much too soon for Phil’s liking. 

“Only if you choose to act. Only if you ask them to love you back and they do. You must, _must_ keep it a secret. And if you can’t, you have to send them away.” 

Phil squinched his eyes against hot, prickling tears. 

“All right,” he whispered. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, low, and he knew she meant it. There was no reproach then, no sharp reminder that once, a long time ago, Phil had done a foolish thing. Had toyed with Fate even knowing there would be a consequence. She didn’t ask him if he thought this might be it. 

She didn’t have to.

* * *

“Phil!” Dan said as he descended the stairs, bright and so naturally happy to see him. As if just being with Phil was enough to bring that resonance of joy to Dan’s voice. 

Phil had folded Dan’s blankets carefully, resisting the urge to bury his face in them, to memorize Dan’s scent. Resolute, he’d made himself coffee by reflex. Had memorized the words he needed to say. Had forced himself to acknowledge that today he’d fallen irrevocably in love. That today, he had to break two hearts. 

“Phil, is everything all right?” Dan sat facing him, feet pulled up, back propped against the armrest. 

“Um, no.” Phil bit his lip. Later, he’d remember this in snatches, in pictures taken with each heartbeat. Coffee on the table, and a breath. Turning toward Dan, another one. Eyes, beautifully brown and lovely, trained on Phil’s and then one caught, trapped in Phil’s throat. “I-I have to tell you something. And it’s…”

“It’s not good, is it?” And _oh,_ Dan’s beautiful face was terrible then. A picture taken in a heartbeat that Phil knew he’d never forget. 

“No, it’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging on[tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/) because these things bring such sunshine to my life :D


	5. Chapter 5

Dan was hasty and impulsive. He was quicksilver moods simmering under the surface of his beautiful smooth skin. Phil had already known some of this from their late night conversations online. The rest he’d observed in tiny moments in their week together. 

Only now, there was no trace of that impulsivity. Instead, Phil was forced to confess something awful in the face of a painfully vulnerable version of Dan. His hands were still balled in the arms of his jumper, curls dripping and leaving wet patches on the fabric, anxious fear written in the lines of his face. His eyes were wide and dark and Phil simply couldn’t handle him, curled like that on the couch they’d spent hours talking, laughing and playing on. 

He stood and croaked, “Coffee!” before he could change his mind. Dan followed him into the kitchen and sat, accepting his coffee with a quiet thanks and watchful eyes. As Phil began to tell his story, he braced for a bright flare of anger, or even an expression of betrayal that would break his heart even more. Dan took the news that Phil’s family was immortal easily, exclaiming with sympathy when Phil told him that he’d been born an anomaly, a very rare mortal child amongst the ever-living. And when Phil choked up, throat tight with tears he swallowed down, Dan rose, familiar and comfortable in Phil’s house, to fetch him tissues. 

“Just in case,” he said. Phil thanked him. “Go on, then,” Dan prompted.

“I was jealous. And scared. I know it seems stupid, to be scared of other people losing me, and not relieved that I’d never lose them but…” 

“It doesn’t seem stupid.” Dan’s thumb ran over the back of Phil’s knuckles slowly. 

“Martyn told me about this guy—he wasn’t even sure if this guy existed to be honest. But he said that for a lot of money, he could make me immortal. And, well. I was sixteen. And stupid.”

“A guy?” Dan asked, and then bit his lip. “Oh, no, Phil-”

“Yeah,” he said, confirming the conclusion Dan had come to. “Turns out the guy did exist.” Phil’s laugh was wet and wry. “And that’s the story of how sixteen year old Phil fucked with Fate and became immortal.” 

Dan dropped his hand, face ghost white. “You— _You’re_ -” 

“Immortal, yes.” 

Phil sat back and closed his eyes, braced for Dan to yell now, for the appearance of Dan’s fast and volatile anger. A thick silence treacled through the cottage. He opened his eyes to find Dan, head propped in his hands on the table. Dan’s quiet acceptance of Phil’s family situation was obviously the limit of his adaptability to this situation. Phil couldn't fault him; this wasn’t exactly a _small_ lie of omission. 

“I suppose you know then, about-” 

“The curse that will…” Dan couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice was thick with tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” Phil said. “I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I never thought you’d come here. I didn’t know…” 

“Know?”

“That I’d fall in love,” Phil admitted, staring down at his tangled up fingers.

“Y-you’re in...with _me_?” Dan squealed. 

“Well, don’t say it like that,” Phil said. 

“Like what?” 

“LIke it’s the most surprising thing, like...of course I did. How could I not?” Strangely, Phil wasn’t deterred by Dan’s reaction. Wasn’t scared that Dan might not love him back. Because he knew. It was twisted with his own feelings, a deep, beautiful poison in his chest. 

“But no one’s ever…” Dan’s eyes were wide and shining with tears. Phil took his hand. “I’m not the kind of boy people fall in love with Phil,” he protested. “Not for real.” 

“That’s because everyone else is stupid.” Phil smiled and ached to kiss him. When Dan opened his mouth to speak, something hot and frightening stabbed like needles through his belly. “But don’t, you can’t say it. You can’t _at all_.” 

“But...you know. Aren’t I already cursed then?” 

Phil squeezed his eyes shut. “My mum says you have to choose. We have to choose it.” 

“And you’re not choosing,” Dan said softly. Phil’s knee touched Dan’s. The urge to brush his fingers through Dan’s hair, to comfort him and pull him close was unbearable. 

“I won’t curse your family Dan. And I know you won’t either. I know things are hard, but I also know you love them.” 

“But surely there’s a way around this,” Dan said desperately. Phil shook his head. “No,” Dan insisted, “you found a way to do the impossible, why can’t I?” 

“I’ve never...I could only actually do it—transform—because my parents are immortal. The genes were there. But regardless….Dan, immortality has been its own curse. I was told there would be a price. That there would be a terrible consequence. You don’t fuck with Fate, and I did. But I was young and no price seemed greater than how scared I was then.” 

“And you’re still scared of what the consequence could be,” Dan said, so gentle and soft it almost slipped past Phil’s ears. The wind off of the water had kicked up, skimming the edges of the cottage. A steady, hollow sound came through the fireplace. His home had never felt lonelier. The cottage _knew_. Knew that soon, Phil would be a shell haunting these old, lovely walls. Dan’s fingers skimmed his cheek and they came away wet. Phil hadn’t known he was crying.

“Dan, I think this _is_ the consequence,” Phil said. 

“What?” Dan’s voice rose, shading hot and angry. _Finally_ , finally Dan did something Phil had expected all along. “I’m a punishment? What the fuck Phil!” Dan stood, chair scraping the floor harshly. Dan went to the window, leaning against the sink. The garden whipped in the bitter wind. 

“No,” Phil said. He stood too, padding softly over to Dan, one trembling hand settling so, so gently on Dan’s shoulder. “Loving you but not being allowed to. Having to—” he swallowed. “Having to send you away.”

A cry, tiny and helpless, escaped Dan. His shoulders heaved and Phil almost, _almost_ wrapped Dan in his arms. He could see it. He could feel how it would be, Dan’s lovely long body in his arms, Phil’s face tucked between Dan’s shoulder blades. How he’d smell himself on Dan, the scent of his soap and home, evocative and terrible and beautiful. But he wasn’t allowed that and he _mustn’t_ tempt Fate. She knew him now; surely she’d seen Phil, that night of the new moon, daring to defy her with his handful of seeds. He must not call her eyes upon them. And so he stepped away. 

“I do love you Dan. But there’s nothing to be done for it. You have to go.” Phil covered his mouth, failing to keep his sobs quiet. He couldn’t see through his tears, so he closed his eyes. Instead he stood in a terrible, terrible silence. Every moment of Dan’s leaving crawled under his skin. The warmth of his body as he passed by Phil, the palpable pain Dan felt as he gathered his things. The echo of Dan’s final words reverberated in his ears, in his mind, in his bones and brain. 

“Goodbye, Phil.”

He left through the garden door, letting the ugly, angry wind in. Phil rushed toward the sink, punishing himself with one last glimpse. There he was, his beautiful boy—only not _his_ , never his again—stopping amidst the flowers. He was so lovely, so _right_ there. Dan stooped, twisting the full bloom of a peony off of its stem, protecting its petals from the greedy grasp of that awful wind. And then it was over. He was gone through the gate, leaving Phil with nothing but the biting cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging on[tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/629413770486235136/fic-this-dreaming-endurance-510) because these things bring such sunshine to my life :D


	6. Chapter 6

Months passed in silence. Silence between himself and Dan, the hollow silence of a cottage that so briefly knew the sounds of happiness in two voices. Even with his family, there was a silence under Phil’s speech. Dan’s absence, the knowledge of love that was at his fingertips, the visceral aching loneliness, husked him. Phil was a shell and everyone knew it. They tiptoed around it. Even Martyn did. Phil assumed his mother had spoken to him, told Martyn to tread carefully. 

Time trickled on so, so slowly. Phil held on to his heartbreak, wrapped himself around it, sheltered it. It was all of Dan he had left. A broken heart and an empty home whose walls had born witness to a story Phil would never, ever tell another soul. 

He tried to lose himself in his flowers, but more often than not he ended up sitting amidst them, eyes closed and hands fisted. What was beautifully wild soon became something near feral. There was a lush unruliness to it that Phil reveled in. He, too, felt feral. Like a human on the brink, disaster a breath away, broken enough that destruction became tempting. He spent hours amidst the greens, the fluttering petals sheering away as blooms faded, Fate’s cruel laughter an imagined echo in the wind. 

It was fitting perhaps, that he should find Dan upon his doorstep once again as he emerged from his garden one evening. He had no tools to drop this time, only his heart. 

“Dan?” Phil managed through a too-tight throat. Much like the first time Phil had seen him, Dan’s smile left him stunned and helpless. “What-why are you here?” he asked. _You shouldn’t be here_.

“I fixed it,” Dan said, before pulling Phil into a hug. Instinct told him to wrap his arms around Dan, and so he did. He tucked his face into Dan’s neck and inhaled. If possible, Dan seemed to have grown since he last saw him. 

“What do you mean?” Phil asked, pulling away with difficulty. “Dan, what did you do?” Slivers of cold fear prickled through his body.

“Let’s go in, yeah?” Dan said. “And we can talk. I won’t lie, I could use something warm, the ferry over was mad cold.” 

“Yeah,” Phil said, blindly letting Dan in. He could have sworn the walls sighed when Dan crossed the threshold. “C’mon then. Have a seat.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and busied himself with getting water in the kettle. His hands were shaking. “I don’t mean to sound unkind, but...what did you do, exactly?” 

“Phil,” Dan said from behind him, low tone rich in intimacy. “I reversed the curse. Or well, not reversed because I wasn’t quite cursed yet.” 

“How…?” Phil set the kettle down with a clank. He couldn’t bear to look at Dan right now. Dread and happiness churned in his belly. 

“I found a guy,” Dan said simply. 

“Oh, no, _no_ , Dan,” Phil said, reaching out blindly. Dan took his hand, curling their fingers together. He turned to face Dan reluctantly. “The cost, there must have been a cost?” 

“There was,” Dan said. How, _how_ could he sound so calm? His eyes, rich brown and always so vibrant, so full of life, were older than they had any right to be. “And I was happy to pay, honestly. It wasn’t something that mattered anyway.” 

“Wha-” 

“Phil,” Dan interrupted with sudden urgency. “Let’s not. We can be together, I promise, and it’ll be fine. It’s fine. I’ll tell you everything. But right now, could...could you just hold me?” 

“ _Dan_ ,” Phil said, a broken, soft cry that echoed the aching he’d held for all these lonely months. He couldn’t, he simply couldn’t. And so Dan did. Dan took Phil into his arms and held him tight and close so that everything was Dan's smell and the whoosh and thump, the steady constancy of his beating heart, its surruration proof of Dan’s vitality. It brought to mind the sounds of the sea, particularly at its quietest, its ceaseless tug and pull a whisper, a comforting reminder, _still here, still here, still here_. He’d heard nothing but bitter wind for so long now. Burrowed into Dan like this, eyes closed, Phil could almost make himself forget that in order to have this, Dan had been required to make payment. 

He pulled away, hands fisted in the soft fabric of Dan’s jumper. Dan’s smile was wobbly and his face streaked with tears. Phil swiped at them with clumsy fingers, an apology gathering in his mouth. 

“Don’t apologize,” Dan whispered. “Please, Phil. Don’t turn me away.” 

“You know-you must know I don’t want to, right? That there’s nothing in this world I want more than to have you?” 

“Phil,” Dan said, lips red-bitten and eyelashes clumped, “the price has been paid. There’s no undoing this. Please, _please_ have me.” 

And really, how could Phil not? Not when the choice had been made, not when what he wanted was literally at his fingertips. “Dan, could I-” 

“Yes,” Dan interrupted, voice a whisper, consent and urgent need rich even in the tiny sound. “Please, Phil.” 

It was Dan, though, who bent his head, who breathed Phil in sharply when their lips met. Phil’s soul, a loud, clamoring and needing thing, strained desperately into that closeness. Dan exhaled and then it was Phil’s turn to breathe him in; Phil’s hands were in his hair, lips learning Dan’s, body swaying deliciously against him. Each painfully slow minute Phil had endured without him fell away. Phil had no true sense of time then. He didn’t need to mark its passage when he could be dropping small kisses to the corners of Dan’s lips, to his dimples, behind his ears, fingers clutching Dan’s soft hips, returning to his lips again and again.

When they came back to themselves, Phil realized it was fully dark outside. Time had passed so quickly while they’d been lost to each other. Phil thought wildly that perhaps it, like him, was making up for the past few months. With Dan in his home and heart and hands, Phil knew he was willing to surrender to time's tide, and so he did. The next moments, minutes, hours were a blur, a beautiful mess of color, rich with the electric touch of Dan’s fingers under Phil’s shirt and the deep brown of Dan’s curls against Phil’s sheets, the timber of each gasp and confession whispered between damp lips and bodies coming together, luminous in the moonlight and incandescent with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging on[tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/629898017052426240) because these things bring such sunshine to my life :D


	7. Chapter 7

Phil would always carry the memory of his first week with Dan like moments in a movie reel. He could recall them in their entirety with perfect clarity and color. There was passion, yes, and laugher—so much laughter—but also a tiny thread of fear. Dan was so skilled at kissing the questions off his lips, at drawing Phil out to the cliffs to watch the sea in silence, at pulling Phil into the gentle warmth of affectionate touch he had been starved for so long. Phil allowed himself to be distracted. Allowed himself near-perfect happiness. 

Truth was, Phil didn’t _want_ to know. At the time, he’d known that whatever the cost had been, Dan thought it was easily worth it. But Phil knew that any disruption of Fate’s plans carried unforeseeable consequences. Phil had made himself known to her once and now Dan must have as well. 

At night, nine days into the allowance of love without questions or boundaries, Phil finally, _finally_ gave in to the dark whispering anxiety that was keeping him up. Dan was asleep, facing him with one hand curled under his pillow, hair a frizzy mess from Phil’s grasping hands and post-sex sweat. Phil tried, he really did, to quiet that whispering, but he couldn’t. Helpless to it, he reached over and ran one finger over the curve of Dan’s cheek, the edge of his ear, catching on the earring adorning it. Dan woke beautifully, slow fluttering lashes and pursed lips Phil wanted to kiss. 

But kisses were distractions and Phil could no longer let himself be swayed. 

“Phil?” Dan said, sleepy and soft, losing the L at the end of his name as it slid into a W. “What’s wrong?”

“Dan, you have to tell me,” Phil said, hushed like he thought if they spoke quietly enough this might not be real. “You can’t keep hiding it from me.” 

“‘M not hiding it,” Dan said. He scooted closer to Phil. He was always so warm. Despite heating, late fall was making itself known, painting a deep chill on the air. “I just know you’ll be upset and it’s not—I’m okay. I’m not upset at all.” 

“Just-please-”

“My soul,” Dan interrupted. “I traded my soul to be with you.” 

“What? _Dan!_ ” Phil sat up. “How-” 

“Phil, it’s okay.” Dan ran his hands down Phil’s shoulders, catching his fisted hands and pulling them onto his lap. “It doesn’t matter. I never really believed in souls anyway. What’s the difference really? No one really knows what happens when we die, do they?”

“Yes! Yes, we do. The Gods have told us.”

“Phil, do you really belie-”

“Dan, I’m _immortal_. I traded my mortality for this. How could that happen without the existence of-” 

“Magic? Gods? Sure, I’ll grant you, there’s _something_. But I just—it’s not...nothing is certain. And I don’t care what happens after this. I care about _you_. I care about happiness _now_. I care about being my best self; living my best life. And I’ve been so unhappy, and stuck and-” 

“Dan, _Dan_.” Phil didn’t mean to sound cross, nor stern, but his heart was leaping and his throat was becoming increasingly tight. “You were invisible to Fate before and now you’re not! Gods—the both of us—there’s no way she won’t have seen us! You-you could have moved on, found happiness elsewhere. Found love. How could someone not love you?” 

“Phil. Believe me. I _know_ I couldn’t have found this anywhere else. I know there’s only you. I can’t explain it, but I knew the moment I met you.” 

Phil closed his eyes and forced himself to focus on his breathing. He’d known too. And despite what Dan believed, Phil understood why. Why they’d both _known_. 

Because they were soulmates. And now, in order to have Phil, Dan had given his away. 

Phil had no idea what that meant for them, for Dan. Obviously they were still together, maybe even still bound. Being in love with Dan felt exactly as it had before: right and, dare he say, fated. Phil didn’t doubt the depth of Dan’s love, nor his own, for a single moment. They’d both known from the start that regardless of cost, Dan was mortal. Eventually, Phil’s heart would break anyway. It was an awful thing to know, but he understood now that loving and having Dan was an inevitability. Phil could see how for someone like Dan, someone who needed proof and facts to believe, the trade was easy. Dan knew there would be consequences and costs regardless. In Dan’s position, Phil couldn’t say he wouldn't have done the same.

 _But what if there’s a way?_

Phil shook his head. He couldn’t think of cheating Fate again, not now. Now was a time for care, for stepping softly, for keeping their heads down. 

“Phil? Are you angry?” Dan’s voice had gone quiet, unsure.

“No,” Phil said honestly. “I’m not. I’m scared. I don’t—I just. I know one day…”

“Let’s not,” Dan pleaded. “Let’s be here, in this moment. Every moment. I don’t want to think about the future.” 

“Me neither,” Phil said, a rueful laugh lost in the pressing black of night. What was done was done. There was no going back. For a fleeting time in his own life, Phil would get Dan. Love. Near perfect happiness, if only he could squash and press and compress reality and consequence into a tiny box, tuck it away in the recess of his mind, and live in each moment they’d been granted together. 

“All that matters now is you and me. _Us_. Together.” 

“Dan,” Phil said helplessly, eyes prickling with tears. Dan leaned in and kissed him. Gave him soft, whispering touches that soothed. That spoke louder, even in their delicacy, than fear. Phil let himself be calmed. Allowed Dan to push him back into the sheets gently, kissing him with reverence. Fear of the unknown had woven itself through the past nine days, a stubborn, flickering shadow marring the lovely movie reel of their time together. He knew now what Dan had done. Knew there was no going back. If he let it, the fear of the known would cast dark over every lovely moment of the lives they could have together. _Would_ have together.

But Dan’s hands in his hair and their bodies moving together were too beautiful. Phil _refused_ to let it ruin what might be the only bright years of his endless life. And so when he leaned into Dan’s kisses, and into the pleasure and joy they brought each other, he did so with willing forgetfulness, stubborn determination to make these moments indelibly beautiful memories he’d always, always carry with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment because they make my day, and also reblogging on [tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/631243185776197633)bc that would make everyone's day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **just a reminder, this fic does have a lovely, happy ending**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to Ben and Cal, who are just amazing betas, and who really got me going when I felt defeated by this chapter.

_two years Later_

Phil took one breath, steeled himself, and then another. Despite his fisted hands, he knew he’d never be able to hide the full body trembling coursing through his limbs. If the information he’d paid dearly for and traveled for weeks to find was correct, on the other side of these doors he would find Fate. A human actually finding and meeting Fate was incredibly rare. More rare than being the mortal child of immortal parents; than finding a way to become immortal through dark magic. More rare even than brokering a soul to avoid being cursed. 

Yet he and Dan had done and been through the nearly impossible on paths that seemed inevitable. Over the course of their year together, they’d only spoken of Fate twice. They’d whispered into each other’s ears, in the dead of night, as if that alone would hide them from her. 

With open windows and a cold breeze that carried the sound of a churlish, troubled sea, they’d wondered if maybe everything had gone how it was meant to after all. Phil dreamed of a world where Fate knew them, had meant for all of this to happen, had brought them together with kindness. It was easier to hope than to think about the price he’d been told he’d have to pay one day. He knew there was still a reckoning to come, knowledge that wove and wound itself through every second he and Dan had stolen.

Phil shook his head, locked his muscles in a vain attempt to hide his trembling, and knocked on the ornate doors before him. At least twice his height, they were made of aged wood, flaking gold filigree that sheared away in the bitter wind that whistled around them. They stood alone at the edge of a large cliff. Behind them was nothing but a violent sea the color of nighttime during a new moon. This sea, this dark, this wind were nothing like the wind and sea that hugged his little cottage on a cliff of its own. This was bitter cold that pulsed with fear; dread like a booming heartbeat pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. 

The doors opened, soundless and huge. Beyond them was a dark whose quality Phil had never experienced. Phil hesitated on the threshold, unable to tell what he was stepping into. Perhaps this was all Fate’s way of taking him, as if in a single step, he’d be lost forever in space with no sound, no light, nothing solid with which to ground himself. 

Phil closed his eyes and wished for Dan; for the bravery he knew he'd be able to muster if only Dan were at his side. 

But he wasn’t. They’d only gotten a year together before Dan had been torn from him.

Phil could wish for Dan all he wanted but the truth was that Dan was no longer with him. That was the whole point. The void in front of him could be no worse than the thought of life without Dan. Despite his fear, Phil knew—he’d known from the moment he’d learned of Dan’s death—that he would go to any lengths to get Dan back. The odds were impossibly slim, and the chance that this would end horribly was high. 

Phil tilted his head up and stepped over the threshold, resolute and terrified and hopeful. 

The dark enveloped him. All sound ceased. Any light that might have spilled through the doors disappeared. When Phil turned there were no longer any doors at all. He swallowed immediate panic, worked to get his bearings any way he could. It was difficult. The dark had a living quality. Anxious dread spilled through his body. Fear tightened his throat and labored his breathing.

“Hello?” he called. The heavy dark shrouding him swallowed his voice almost as soon as it left his mouth. He called again, taking a tentative step, and then another; soon enough Phil realized he could see, just a little. From somewhere indiscernible a faint, chilling light fell upon him. 

“ _Philip._ ” 

Phil swallowed a yelp. Before him appeared the most terrifyingly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Beauty like a curse, one that shifted and shimmered. Phil looked away, an animal instinct that knew: to gaze upon her too long would break any human mind. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“H-have you?” Phil twisted his fingers together. Her words merely confirmed what he knew. She’d been watching him. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “Yes, I’ve been waiting and yes, I’ve been watching.” 

Even his thoughts weren’t safe then. Phil took a breath to quiet his mind. 

“I got bored of it, though,” she said, terrible laughter rich in her voice. “Waiting for you to find me became quite dreary.” 

“But-” Phil bit his lip. Cold fingers slipped under his chin. Phil startled and forced himself not to jerk away. Her touch had a cold, wet and slimy quality to it. 

“I know you’ve searched. I know you’ve followed the advice of charlatans, that you’ve paid dearly with borrowed money.” She laughed again. Phil closed his eyes; it rang like bells. Not musically but as if he were inside them. Her voice vibrated through him painfully, “Darling boy, you didn’t _find_ me at all.”

“What did-I don’t—” 

“I allowed it. I grew bored of waiting, You’re here to ask for the impossible. You want, once more, to break the rules, yes?” 

Mortified, Phil realized he was crying. He wiped the tears from his cheeks but still more fell; he cried in a way he never had before, helplessly and pointlessly. No tears would bring Dan back to him. Only Fate could do this, but her cold disdain for him leeched any lingering warmth and hope Phil had left. 

“Oh, you do grieve beautifully. You must have loved him so.” 

“Love,” Phil said, surprising himself with the strength, with the anger in his voice. “I _love_ him still. Always.” 

“Philip, you silly boy. You _chose_ immortality. Surely you knew better than to fall for a mortal. I won’t lie, it's been terribly amusing, watching you try to rewrite the story of your life again and again.” 

Phil couldn’t help himself then, so angry with her, with the condescension and laughter in her voice. All these years he’d lived in fear of angering her only to find that he’d been nothing but an amusing plaything. 

“You _knew_ though, didn’t you?” he accused. “Only Fate can create soulmates. And he was mine, wasn’t he?” He looked up at her, just a glance, her beauty so harsh it felt like splinters driving straight through his brain. “And this is the price, isn’t it?” 

There was a long pause. Phil’s heart pounded. In any other place, in any other time, Phil would think anyone could hear it clearly. 

“No. I do not make, nor break apart those paired. And, no. This isn’t the price,” she said. Phil covered his eyes. 

“There’s more?” Phils breathing went ragged, heart gone from pounding to the sort of uneven gallop that only led to breakdown. How, _how_ could he withstand more pain, more cost? 

“I’ll extract my price regardless. But this... I must say, this is so entertaining. Oh, don’t get so angry, darling.” 

Phil swallowed, dry throat clicking. He couldn’t quiet his mind, couldn’t keep his anger and heartbreak contained. 

“I’d hate to have this end so soon. Philip, do you know where we are?” 

He shook his head. 

“We are where the lost and wrong go. We’re in the immaterial; the insubstantial; the indeterminate. He sold his soul and therefore had nowhere to go.” She laughed again. Phil covered his ears but it still broke and crashed through him in waves. “You’re in the nowhere. Do you think you can find the lost in the middle of nowhere?” 

“If you know what’s inside my mind and heart you should know I won’t ever stop trying,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Well then, go ahead. You may search as long as you like.” She paused. “Well, until I get bored of this part I suppose. Endlessness becomes quite boring doesn’t it?” 

“I-”

“Have fun, darling,” she interrupted, voice in his ears and mind and bones and then, suddenly, gone. The sharp gold light she radiated flickered behind his eyes, as if he’d been staring into a light for too long. Eventually his eyes adjusted. He could see, but only just in front of him. All there was to see was darkness. 

Fate didn’t think Phil could find Dan here, in this endless space for the lost and unrecoverable. 

But Phil knew better. He would find Dan in any world. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and closed his eyes, determined to listen for Dan with his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging on[tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/625209297462296576) because these things bring such sunshine to my life 
> 
> Also, this fic does have a playlist, so if you'd be interested in hearing, drop me a note!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah...the chapter count went up. But that's because I wrote the last two chapters! So those are in beta but this means this story will be wrapping up soon!! Gentle reminder that this story has a happy ending :D

In the living dark, Phil closed his eyes. He knelt, covered his face and, for three long breaths, listened to the sound of his own breathing, willing it to even out. He let himself remember the sound of Dan’s breathing at night; how it would sometimes hitch during nightmares. He remembered Dan’s whimpered sighs when Phil would touch him. Dan’s laughter; gasping for breath as they played video games late into the night. 

Dan in the garden, the most beautiful bloom. Dan who loved to watch Phil with his plants; who loved the sounds of the sea and the air; who loved to pick Phil’s flowers and bring them into the house so that the colors and smells stayed with them always. Phil remembered Dan in meditation, breathing long and slow and flat in a way that calmed Phil as much as himself. 

They’d made love in that garden often. After, Phil would lose time listening to the steady, grounding beating of Dan’s heart. 

In the pitch black that pressed and plucked at him came a faint but steady thumping. Phil knew that sound; he’s spent so many days memorizing it’s unique cadence. He stood with eyes closed and let that sound guide him. He needn’t close them, really, but control over the darkness staved off the inherent panic it inspired. Eyes closed, he could focus on the whispered song of Dan’s heartbeat and, after an indeterminate amount of time, Dan’s breathing.

It was only when he heard a whispering, a broken mumbling that was so very much his boy, that Phil opened his eyes. In the distance stood his cottage. Or, a not-replica of it. The cottage stood as he remembered it, but greyed, as if the color were slowly being leached from its walls. 

He found Dan kneeling in a bed of petunias amidst the hollyhocks and lavender, roses rambling in their own way in the background. They’d planted those petunias over a year ago on a bright spring day. Their laughter had been snatched away by a strong north facing wind. Phil remembered having to raise his voice over the rush of air that carried all sound away. Phil should have known what was to come; should have heeded that wind. It had taken their laughter and, soon enough, his lover. 

In the year since, his garden had gone wild, untamed and unloved. 

The garden Phil stumbled into amidst the nothingness of this timeless space would be an exact replica of their last day together, were it not for one thing. 

All colour was gone.

“Dan!” Phil rushed to him, tears making their way from his chest and throat. Dan didn’t look up. Phil reached for his hand, saying his name again, louder. Like all colour, sound was muted, as were Dan’s eyes when he finally looked up. 

“I can’t...I have to find—” Dan looked about, eyes unfocused in the darkness. “They’re dying. Look, I can’t—” Dan touched one striped bloom, petunias that had only just begun to spread. Under Dan’s finger it slowly disintegrated, ash floating for a moment before collapsing. “He’ll want them like they were and I can’t keep them—” A quiet desperation, a whisper of heartbreak laced words that were insubstantial, hollow. 

Phil wiped his face and tried to gain control of himself. “Dan, what are you- what are you talking about?” 

Dan couldn’t quite look at him. He kept trying to touch flowers, only for them to slowly crumble. He was trembling. When Phil looked around he could see changes to their garden he hadn’t noticed. Patches were missing, places Dan must have tried to pick flowers like he so loved to do when he’d been living. 

“I can’t- I can’t remember. He’s coming, right?” Finally, finally Dan looked at Phil directly. There was no recognition in his eyes, only panic and fear. Dan grabbed Phil’s hand. Phil _knew_ the strength of that grip, had felt it countless times, but it too was insubstantial: there but not quite there. 

“I’m right here Dan.” Phil cupped Dan’s cheek. Dan’s eyes filled with tears. 

“I’m trying to take care of them,” Dan said. “He loves them best at their most colorful. I’m just ruining everything, I can’t—” Dan rose on unsteady legs, stumbling down the winding path, mumbling to himself. 

“Dan, it’s me. Please, _please_ ,” Phil begged. Dan reached for one spectacular hydrangea bloom; even without color it was stunning, the small flowers clustered together in a beautiful ball. He wasn’t sure why he did it, exactly, but Phil stopped Dan’s hand just before he could touch it. He took Dan’s cold hand in his, squeezing it gently for a fleeting moment. “Here.” He reached out to twist the bloom from its stalk. Under his fingers, as so many plants had for decades, it came alive. Color spread like watercolor through the leaves; faint blues and purples rippling through each petal. Dan gasped, hand shooting out to grasp Phil’s. 

“What—” 

“For you,” Phil said, pressing the flower, so bright in an infinite darkness it almost hurt to look at, into Dan’s hands. 

Dan took it, fingers tracing each petal. He brought it to his face slowly, breathing as if to catch its scent. “Phil,” he murmured, the dreaming longing pressed into a single syllable Phil felt down to his toes. “I have to find Phil.” Dan blinked and looked around; he wore a look Phil recognized, a just waking sharpening of his eyes. 

“I’m here,” Phil tried again. He’d given up on wiping away tears. They dripped from his chin. Dan was still trembling. “C’mon, love. Let's go inside,” he said for lack of any other idea. He knew now what Fate had meant about being lost in the middle of nowhere. Dan was here, but also nowhere. He was searching for the barely remembered. The flowers and the cottage were shells of memory Dan carried with him. A punishment: perhaps the cost of his own choices, to be home without a home; to have the memory of love that had imprinted in his heart crumbling at his very touch. 

Phil led Dan to the cottage but the side door was locked. Phil frowned and tried again, jiggling a door handle that wouldn’t budge. 

“You can’t, y’know,” Dan said from behind. “I’m not allowed.” 

“It’s _my_ home,” Phil said, trying to infuse authority and assuredness in his voice. How, _how_ could she let him find Dan, have Dan at his fingertips, only to find Dan so lost. Fingers threaded through Dan’s, he tugged him along the path and under the wisteria arch to the front door. It, too, was locked. Phil rested his forehead against the door, finally giving in to the great, hopeless sobs he’d been holding at bay. There was an insanity to this dark, to home but not home, to finding a Dan who no longer knew him as anything but a memory, a longing he sought but never found. 

“Hey,” Dan said, putting a warm, wide palm on his shoulder. Phil turned, pressing himself against Dan’s body without invitation, but knowing somehow, that he could. Maybe this Dan didn’t quite know him, but Phil knew Dan’s heart, the sweetness of it, the tenderness that would never turn away someone in pain. He’d learned it over months of conversation online, days spent loving him. Dan hid his heart from others, but never Phil. Dan’s arms around him were just as Phil knew they would be. With his face tucked into Dan’s neck Phil had the startling realization that he couldn’t quite smell Dan.The loss of such familiar comfort was jarring, a stark reminder of where they were. Phil could feel the slight slipping of his mind. He realized that any amount of time here was meant to break a person. Soon he too might end up like Dan: lost, unable to quite catch the memory of home. 

Over and over he thought he’d reached that point at which he had to pay the price for those six seeds that changed the course of his life, and every time he’d been wrong. But still, he wondered. Was this, a loss of himself, of Dan, the price he’d have to pay? The thought of forgetting Dan tore through him. He gripped Dan’s shirt and pulled him as close as he could. If he had to, he’d hold him like this until the last memory was bled from him. It was surreal, this space, the knowledge of dreaming endurance he might have no choice but succumb to if he couldn’t find a way to get Dan out of here.

He could have cursed Fate—he had it in him still—but he didn’t.

Instead, he resolved to fight her in any way he could. Until the very end, regardless of what that end might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment because they make my day, and also reblogging on [tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/63306409179525939)bc that would make everyone's day!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil learns the price

“You have surprised me.” A voice, bright and sharp, lanced through him. “That was rather fun. I do love when humans surprise me.” 

A cold, wet finger skimmed his cheek. His skin burned, something akin to static electricity crawling over his skin. He tried to make sense of her brilliance and the ear popping volume of her laughter in a soundless space. 

His stomach turned; vertigo tore through him. He could no longer feel his feet rooted to the ground. Phil realized that when he’d entered this haunting space, Fate had shaped it around the rules of the real world simply so that she could snatch them away, to continue his misery parade. 

“Shouldn’t you have seen this happen?” Phil knew better than to challenge her, especially now as she was slowly, sense by sense, taking and breaking rules of reality. 

“If only it worked that way,” Fate said. “I set things into motion; I don’t control the endings because I needn’t. My touch propels the world and everything works as it should. Mostly.” 

“I’d think you would enjoy this sort of thing, then.” He spoke without thinking, forgetting to temper the bitterness in his tone. “A little change, someone trying to alter their fate.”

“I am inevitable,” she ground out. He shivered, the trembling in his muscles matching Dan’s earlier. “ _You_ do not get to control or change that. You’ve amused me, surprised me, but you must know, Philip, that you don’t play with Fate...” 

“...Fate plays with you,” he and Dan mumbled together. He’d said it once, to Dan; an old adage his parents had said to him, over and over after he’d eaten those seeds. 

“What better game than this?” Phil said, grasping desperately at straws. “To know it’s been played, that I’ve amused you, and now you get to set something new in motion?” 

“Oh, Philip, dear, don’t you think I knew you’d fight anyway you could?” 

Phil felt himself begin to crumble then, hope slowly trickling from him. 

“You’re breaking, Philip,” she whispered. ”Can’t you feel it?” 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Her words echoed, reverberated, rose in volume until his mind was full of her, nothing but her. 

“Immortals aren’t really made to be broken you know.” 

He didn’t know. He knew only her, her touch on his face and the gravity of her inevitability, the truth of her presence the only thing his mind could catch. 

There was a boy at his side, within arm’s reach. Phil knew him, he was sure of it. If only he could get her out of his head, if only he could find his bearings, maybe he’d remember. He didn’t know the boy’s name, could barely discern his face, but somehow, Phil knew he loved him. A small, protected, sacred space in his heart thrummed with an inalienable knowledge: whoever this boy was, Phil couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave him behind. 

“ _I won’t leave, I won’t leave, I won’t leave_ ,” he chanted under his breath, hands over his ears. He felt her laughter under his skin. “You can’t make me leave him,” Phil said. “I won’t go. You can try to break me—you can break me—but I’ll never go anywhere he isn’t.”

Silence followed. A timeless one, an aching one.

“I knew you would fight. But to give? You would give up your life for him?” Fate spoke softly, an undercurrent in her tone he couldn't place. 

“I would do anything. I’ve told you. I _will_ do anything.” 

There was a wild whooshing, Phil’s body jerking roughly back into itself as it collided with something solid. His ears popped. When he opened his eyes, he found himself back on solid ground. He pushed himself up to sitting. Phil wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jumper; it came away smeared with blood. 

“There was always a price, Philip.” 

The ground under his fingers was grassy; they were in an endless field of grey grasses, a grey sky, the sun a grey mimicry of its real world counterpart. 

“You’ll extract another thing? You’ll take more and tell me that it wasn’t the full price?” Phil couldn’t keep the anger from his tone. When he wiped his eyes he was surprised to find he could look at her. She sat cross legged in front of him in the form of a girl. Her long hair caught on a breeze he couldn’t feel. The grass rippled and waved. The illusion was as chilling as any she’d offered. When he inhaled, he caught the lightest scent, a cedar and vanilla memory. The boy next to him sat still as death, eyes closed, curls catching in the wind. 

Dan, he remembered. _His_ Dan. Phil tried to reach for him, but his limbs were leaden. 

The image of their cottage began to materialize beside them. He focused and painted it in his mind, watching the rough rock walls come together, the wisteria-laden arch at the entrance of his garden pulling itself from the grey gloom. 

“Your heart longs for this. Your home,” she stated, flat and soft. 

“ _Our_ home. It isn’t home without him,” Phil said. 

“You want him so badly, you’d give it all up,” she whispered again. 

“Surely you’ve seen love like this before?” he asked. 

“I’ve seen it all.” She wrapped a lock of hair around her finger. She was still painfully beautiful, but he could look at her. He felt stronger for it, even knowing it was her choice to appear to him like this. “And yet, no love is like another. I knew you were meant for love, Philip. I set you on that path when you were born. I told you; I set things in motion. I crafted a heart ready to find and hold love above all else.” 

“And I have.” 

“But you were a _mortal_ boy, one who would live an ordinary, mortal life. When you died, you’d be able to look back and say, ‘At least I had him beside me’...” She laughed ruefully. “Not _him_ of course, since he came decades after you. Some other boy.” 

“You thought I was meant for just anybody,” Phil said. 

She ignored him. “I’d forgotten you, of course. That is, until you ate those seeds...” She looked at him directly. “All along you’ve thought the price would be heartbreak, or loss.” 

“Yes,” Phil said. 

“It wasn’t. You took something that wasn’t yours to take, Philip. He gave something up that wasn’t his to give. He was meant to be with the lost, because that was his choice. And you—” she sighed. “You would give in to what’s inevitable. You’d realize your search was impossible. You would go home and I’d extract the price. I never thought you’d be able to do any of this. Find him. He remembers you. Some part of you, at least. It shouldn’t be possible.” 

“What?” His eyes stung with tears he refused to shed. She sought to hurt him, to inspire fear. Instead, he looked at the boy next to him and something small and hopeful bloomed in his chest.

She shook her head.

“I am wrathful and petty. I toy with human lives for my amusement. I am all of the things you’ve thought of me, you’ve feared of me.” 

Phil’s gut clenched as he remembered all of the things he’d ever thought of her. 

“But I also made two men whose hearts were simply meant for love. Who would long for love. I am much more than you expected, than you could understand. And, it turns out that the both of you are much more than I expected as well. I didn’t think the two of you would break so many rules in order to find and keep each other. That you would choose to lose yourself for him as well.” 

Phil could hear the susurration of the sea, _his_ sea, beyond his home, over cliffs. In his fear and longing, he’d brought all of this into being by imagination alone. Home, _home_ , was so close and Dan was here with him. “Please,” he begged softly. “Please let me have him back. I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything but give him up,” she pointed out. He nodded. Dan’s eyes remained closed, but Phil could see the rise and fall of even breaths now. Phil knew, he _knew_ that if he could only move, if he could only touch him, Dan would wake, would know him. 

“Philip, would you like to know the price now?” 

He shook his head even as he spoke. “Yes, _please._ ” Fear was cold and heavy in his chest. 

“Your immortality.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment because they make my day, and also reblogging on [tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/633722367025217536) bc that would make everyone's day!
> 
> If you haven't already, go check out the amazing moodboard Tara made [here](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/post/625209070032502784/created-for-phandomreversebang-s-2020-edition)!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic was writen for the 2020 Phandom Reversebang....and like, so much thanks and praise goes to those who have been slowly reading along for months, and for my betas Cal and Ben for just being rockstars and so supportive. 
> 
> Also, so many thanks to Tara for the lovely art [found here](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/post/625209070032502784/created-for-phandomreversebang-s-2020-edition). Once you're done with this chapter, I so want you to go visit this post and appreciate what a beautiful, spot on job Tara did when most of this fic was just an outline and rambling. This beautiful art inspired me to keep going, because I wanted to do it justice.

“ _What?_ ” Phil’s eyes popped open. 

“When you ate those seeds, you altered your path. I saw you then. A boy with a heart meant for love who changed it all. You made your own world of heartbreak. None of your suffering was my doing.” 

“What?” he repeated. He couldn’t wrap his mind around her words, her meaning. He was rendered stupid by the simplicity—what felt like simplicity—of the cost. 

“I always meant to take it back, because it wasn’t yours to take from _me_. And I was angry, _furious_ , at your audacity. And then him! His dumb, mortal hubris, thinking that the giving of a soul in trade wouldn’t have consequences. He’s suffered, you know,” she said almost casually, voice lilting like bragging. Phil bit his lip and tried to control his anger. 

“You aren’t quite who I thought you were, who you would be,” she said, head tilted, eyes on them as if trying to solve a puzzle. 

“You can have it. My immortality.” 

“Philip, it isn’t yours to offer. It’s mine to take.” 

He looked around; everywhere was the memory of home. Drained of color, insubstantial and unreal, but reminiscent enough to break his heart at the knowledge that he might soon lose it. “Take it and leave me here, _please_.” 

She leaned forward and wiped his cheeks with fingers that felt surprisingly human. She ran a hand over Dan’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. His eyes fluttered open. When he looked around, his eyes were unfocused, but not like they had been in the ghost garden. They were _Dan’s_ eyes when waking, focusing on the world in tiny increments. 

“Phil?” Dan sat up properly, taking in their surroundings. “Phil where are we? Who—” he looked at Fate and stiffened. He recognized her. He wondered how she appeared to him, to make him tremble so, to draw tears to his eyes. 

“Daniel,” she said. He clenched his jaw. Phil took his hand. “What if I told you you could leave this place, stop being lost, forgetting. You could go to eternal rest.” 

“Without Phil?” And oh, his voice was so _young_ , so lost. Fate nodded. “No. _Nonono_.” Dan shook his head, radiating terror. 

“But you don’t want to be here, do you? To lose him again and again, to haunt a memory that will break your heart endlessly.” She pointed to the ghost cottage. 

Dan turned to Phil. “I don’t want to leave you. I won’t leave you.” His eyes were hard, intent. 

“I won’t leave _you_ ,” Phil said. He turned to her. 

She was quiet a long, long time. Phil wanted to curl into Dan’s lap, to hold him and breathe him in. Dan was so much closer to real now, so much closer to the very thing Phil had spent the better part of a year trying to get back. Dan... Dan seemed to remember heartbreak and loss, but his memory also seemed to be tinged with terror. His shoulder pressed against Phil’s. It was grounding, but in its own way, a touch that was much calmer than Phil felt. Phil knew he was meant to watch Fate, but instead he turned his face into Dan’s shoulder. 

“I made them both with hearts that would seek love,” she said at last. “I set them on their paths, that’s all.” She was talking to herself. 

“Yes. You made us perfectly for each other,” Dan said with conviction. He was afraid; Phil could feel it. Surely Fate knew it. But for Phil, for them, Dan could and would say anything. 

“Stand,” she ordered. They could do nothing but obey. “Open your hands, Philip.” 

Confused, he did. She put her hands on his and looked deep into his eyes.There was a ripping sensation; he was shocked by the pain of it’s loss. He hadn’t felt his immortality implant and grow when he’d eaten those seeds, but the taking of it was visceral, all too real. He cried out. Dan wrapped an arm around him. She removed her hands and closed his around something small and cold and hard. When he opened watering eyes, he opened his hand. A small key lay in his palm. 

“Wha-” 

“Give it to him, Philip.” She was no longer there. She was a whisper on the wind, a caress to his cheek, a breeze ruffling Dan’s hair. In a daze, he turned to Dan and did as ordered. Obediently, Dan opened his hand. The moment he took the key he crumbled with a gasp. Phil caught him by the elbows and wondered wildly how many times they might do this, catch one another as they fell. When Dan looked up, Phil’s breath caught. His eyes, his beautiful eyes were no longer grey, lifeless. Instead they were the brown Phil remembered so well. The deep and rich brown he’d spent hours searching, learning. 

“What just happened?” Phil asked. Dan began to laugh, wildly, the kind of laughter that was born of fear or disbelief or trauma—an inappropriate response to what they’d been going through. Phil wanted to laugh too, expecting at any moment that their laughter might turn to madness. That they’d begin to break apart. That the memory of love would turn into punishment. That they’d be caught in an endless cycle of knowing love’s loss but never being able to find it again. 

“She gave it back, Phil,” Dan said eventually. He put his free hand on Phil’s cheek. It was warm. Phil turned into the touch. “She gave me my soul back.” 

“Dan—” Emotional muscle memory had Phil wanting to remind Dan he didn’t believe in souls. 

“She _did_ , Phil. She gave it back.” Dan smiled, face filled with wonder. “I can feel it.” 

“She took it away, Dan,” Phil said. Dan shook his head. “No, I mean, from me. My immortality. I can’t believe that was the consequence all along.” 

Warmth surrounded him, pushed him. He took a sumbling step toward the cottage in front of them. His heart felt four sizes too large, filled with love for the boy whose hand he caught and tugged with him. He closed his eyes for a moment, simply to marvel at what she had given him. Not this moment, not this gift, not even this forgiveness. But the heart she said she’d given him all along. One meant for love. 

They made their way to the door. Dan put the key in the lock. Phil put his hand on Dan’s before he could turn the knob. Dan turned to him and Phil touched his eyebrow and cheek and chin. He caught him by the back of the neck, pulled him into a deep, desperate kiss. 

“I love you; I can’t believe how much I—” 

“I know,” Dan said against Phil’s lips. “You came so far for me. You found me when I was never meant to be found.” Phil nodded, forehead against Dan’s. 

“Let’s go home,” Phil said at last. He wasn’t sure what was on the other side of that door, only that it was a life she’d given them. 

Dan turned the knob, and together, they pushed the door open and stepped over it’s threshold. Sound and color, brilliant and overwhelming, tumbled around him. He’d forgotten, really, what it was like away from living darkness that sucked away all senses. 

“Oh, _oh_ , Phil,” Dan said, voice thick and quivering. “It’s just like it was.” 

Everything was just as it had been the morning Dan died. Their cereal bowls still on the table, Phil’s socks balled up on the floor by the fridge where Dan had tossed them as he’d yelled and laughed, wondering at Phil’s tendency to leave socks everywhere and anywhere. The couch was a mess of blankets; they’d been up late the night before watching horror movies. 

“Dan,” Phil whispered. “Dan, you’ve been gone so long, how—” 

Dan turned to him, drew him in to a warm, comforting and heartbreakingly familiar hug. “I think we mustn't ask questions, Phil. I think we're meant to start over. We’re meant to just live now.” 

“Together,” Phil said, the understanding, the bone deep knowledge of mortality crashing heavily on his shoulders. It should feel like a loss, shouldn’t it? 

But it didn’t, because now, truly, they would get to live their lives _together_. 

“We’ll grow old together.” He began to cry. The kiss he gave Dan was wet and messy, interrupted by incredulous laughter. “I get to grow old.” 

Dan laughed with him, wiping his own face, then Phil’s. He peppered Phil’s face with kisses. “And you’re happy? You don’t mind?” 

“I said I would do anything, didn’t I?” Phil said. He framed Dan’s face with his hands. 

“Yes. You know I would too, right?” Dan smiled; its lovely, heartbreaking brilliance settled deep in Phil’s heart. It was his now, for the rest of their short, beautiful lives. 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment because they make my day, and also reblogging on [tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/634513905350246401)bc that would make everyone's day!
> 
> If you are interested, there is a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6lujyElX572Ex5L8jJGYtp?si=nwJBkVfPSjaruyeDnlGtNg) for this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked, please consider leaving a comment because they make my day, and also reblogging on [tumblr](https://judearaya.tumblr.com/post/625209297462296576)bc that would make everyone's day!


End file.
